Elective courses like art and metal and wood shops were held in more traditional settings on the lower level, but the only semi-normal class areas upstairs were science and language arts. The language arts area was small, and divided by a wall partition into a front and back providing three different classroom areas. In my Spanish IV class, the four students and the teacher sat at a conference-type table, like a senior seminar class. One of my classmates was a girl who'd been born in Guatemala. She'd lived in the US for much of her life and spoke Spanish well, but had never learned to write it. We became friends, and still are friends. The third person in class might have been another girl or boy. I don't even remember. We cut class a lot in this very weird, very awful school, so actually having all four students there for class wasn't terribly common.

The fourth person in class was Tom. Tom had very pale skin, dark straight hair that generally looked wet, parted in the middle and slicked down on either side. I remember him as a decent enough student who seemed uncomfortable talking, in English or Spanish, who dressed "normally" enough in a sweater, khaki/cargo sort of pants and sneakers, and who pretty much kept to himself. In a school rife with more in-your-face diversity than I could have ever imagined before moving to this "utopia" of a planned city—YoungLife Christians, Jocks, Gays and Lesbians, Artists, Musicians, Geeks, Rednecks, not to mention a student population that was almost 50% African American—Tom didn't seem to fit anywhere. I didn't exactly fit in anywhere either. But I found a few friends, learned to exist in a few of the groups, finished up my "learning pods" quickly, and graduated out of that place a year early. Tom must not have found friends, nor did he discover any similar road out. Tom took a different route altogether. One evening after school, Tom went home and hung himself from his closet rod.

I'm thinking about Tom a lot right now because my son is a freshman at Rutgers University. Tyler Clementi, the Rutgers freshman who jumped off the George Washington Bridge, was in my son's micro economics class. After Tom's suicide, I often thought we could have been different to Tom. My friend Conchita and I, Belita, pretty much ran the class with the teacher since we were the only ones who engaged in what was going on. I am happy to say we weren't mean to Tom. We weren't overly nice, either. We were pretty neutral. So was Tom. I can still picture him, hunched over his open Spanish book, occasionally looking up. How hard would it have been for me to smile and say "Hi,Tom," every time I came into class? I'll never know. I didn't. I know nothing about the world Tom lived in. I think I already know more about Tyler's world. Tyler was gay, living his life, attempting to traverse all the challenges that come with being a college freshman, when his roommate outed him by streaming Tyler's personal interactions with another young man onto the internet for anyone who cared to watch.

With that act, the roommate killed any chance of a "normal" existence for Tyler Clementi.

Something is very, very wrong with this picture. Somehow, we've lost track of the border, the lines a human society cannot cross over and thrive, the lines an individual cannot cross over and thrive. What was the motivation for the roommate and his female friend? Celebrity? Notoriety? A chance to stand out in any way at all? A way to control a world that presents as scary and unmanageable? Cruelty is not a viable solution, and thinking it is is a problem that belongs to all of us living in this society that glorifies twisted power. In movies, books, video games, reality TV shows, everywhere. Why do we accept cruelty and violence as entertainment? Or as a viable solution to a challenge? Cruelty and violence never solve a problem. Mutate it maybe. Squash it temporarily. Solve? No. And how entertaining is it when some nastiness, some bullying, some cruel "joke" hits home? Not too funny at all.

But we didn't do anything, most of us might say. No, we didn't. But we can. And we need to. Passive acceptance isn't anything to crow about either. Each and every one of us, at any age, can stand up when a someone is being cruel or hurtful to someone else, or when someone is being ignored, left out or neglected. Stand up, not just stand by. We can only guess the male roommate was instrumental in hiding the web camera in the dorm room. But the female student who assisted in this debilitating plan? You missed your chance, honey. You missed your chance to make a difference. You missed your chance to be great. You missed your chance to say:  stop.  

We need, each and everyone one of us, to quit missing our chance to be great. And we can start today.